


As Long As We Are Together

by Maitimiel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, F/F, First Kinslaying, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Quenya Names Used, Years of the Trees, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maitimiel/pseuds/Maitimiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel and Elenwe share the last Mingling of Tyelperion and Laurelin, not knowing everything is about to change. But they stick togheter, even when everything else is falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As We Are Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solanaceae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/gifts).



> Many thanks to Sigridhr for being a beta reader for this work! 
> 
> -
> 
> If you need a little help with the names:
> 
> Irissë > Aredhel  
> Turukano > Turgon  
> Itarillë > Idril  
> Nolofinwë > Fingolfin

The first rays of Laurelin bleed into our room coloring our bodies in gold, and giving me just the barest warmth to stir me out of sleep, my eyes focusing slowly in those gray flames that never left my face. I reach to brush my fingertips against her cheek, much too comfortable to make any other movement, and she just laughs softly, grabbing my hand in her own, without words.

Her eyes show the subtlest signs of tiredness, and I can tell that once again she has stayed awake all night, watching me sleep. I would chide her about it again, but I have found that I quite enjoy the fact she stays awake, even if I can't keep up at all with this habit. Back when we first started - this - we would both wait and watch the mingling of the lights that meant we had to part again, and neither of us could bear to waste any minute of the other's company asleep, hungry for whatever scrap of time we could get, fleeting as it was. Dawn found us then in each others arms, not unlike we are now, and yet it somehow seemed sweeter, colored with the desperation of those days. Now we no longer had to fear separation or discovery, but at times, I wished I could return to the day we first met, and savor it again.

I wish I could stay awake for her still. She never shows any resentment that I don't anymore, and yet I feel guilty. I keep repeating to myself that it is of no consequence, but my heart hammers into my head that each time I fall asleep is a tiny betrayal of her love, and I'm far too weak to convince myself otherwise. I want her to see, I want her to feel as loved as I feel when I wake up to her eyes on mine, and I try, every time, I try to remain with her through the night, and fail. It is a delightful failure, enclosed in her arms, but a failure anyway. She chides me that I'm no longer a child to play such games, and I pout, and feel very young. 

“Will _you_ always be a child, Irissë?” I ask her with a note of insult.

And she replies "of course,” very seriously. “For marriage and children are what make us adults, and I shall never marry.”

Guilt, ever present, floods me at this, and I feel selfishly satisfied with that answer in a way I have no right to be – I who married her brother – but she snuggles into my hair, and I leave it be.

Her father won't, of course, allow her to remain unmarried forever. This I choose to ignore, along with so many things that are too painful and not urgent enough to contemplate yet. For now, I have her, my restless child, and she is mine alone. Marriage would take her time away from me, and I cringe even imagining it. I don't want to share her with any husband she might marry, any children she might bear. I don't want her to become an adult, to change. She is perfection; she can never change. I snuggle closer to her side, and I never wish to let go. 

"You are having thoughts again, aren't you?" her languid voice weaves itself into my brain just as her fingers weave themselves into my hair, yellow curls pale against her skin. 

Her legs wrap around my waist, as surely as one who has treaded that path many times, and there is no doubt in her slow movements. The warmth of her body, the whisper of her breath on my neck are almost enough to make me forget what she’s saying, until she makes a "hum" in lazy interrogation, and I try to focus, to a questionable degree of success.

"I'm not having thoughts.” I pause, and she slides a hand along the side of my body. "What thoughs do you think I'm having?" 

I feel Irissë’s smile, her laughter vibrating close to my throat, and she licks her way to my ears before answering, “those little, sneaky thoughts you like to have when I'm not listening." 

Her legs tighten up at that, and I grasp her knee, half turning to face her, my hand traveling up and cupping her breast. She loses her breath for a second, before retaliating and reaching behind my back to pull me closer.

"You can't listen to my thoughts, Irissë. This conversation makes no sense.” But I'm not really paying attention, distracted by the golden patterns on her skin, around her ass, on her sides and up to her face. 

"I'm not the one making conversation.” 

Which is a lie, but I can't call her on it, because she is kissing me now, and what can I do? My hands hold on to her back almost desperately, unwilling or unable to let go, I can't be sure. 

Laurelin shines unopposed now, the last rays of silver completely gone, and I’m fully awake as we fumble on the bed and she kicks the sheets away, impatiently. I laugh quietly, and can't help remembering Itarillë kicking out her fancy gowns after parties and ceremonies. I have always liked balls and dances, for as long as I can remember, but my daughter has to be all but dragged to such events, and Irissë makes crazy promises of taking her riding or camping in the woods to convince her to behave. Turukáno partakes in this, and on those rare moments he and Irissë really look like siblings, and not rivals, as I have learnt to see then. They have taken Itarillë out, on their own and with their cousins many a time. But now Turukáno spends almost all of his time helping his father with matters of politics, and Irissë often rides to Formenos, however Nolofinwe oposes this, to hunt with Tyelkormo and the rest of his brothers. 

"Are you concerned about today's ceremony?” I ask, thoughtfully, and she looks somewhat surprised with my change of subject. 

"It's a reconciliation, what is there to be concerned about?" 

"Turukáno is concerned. He says there is barely any news from Fëanáro and that there is no reason to believe things will go as smoothly as..."

She closes my mouth with her lips, and moves to straddle me, her face very close to mine. 

"I have just been to Formenos,” she says, unimpressed. “Everything is perfectly fine. And if it isn’t,” – she lowers herself, kissing my collarbone –, ”grandfather will manage it."

This was, of course, very convincing, except for the fact Irissë knows nothing of politics, nor pays any attention to it.

"Yes, but Turno..."

"My brother,” she says, growling softly, "always worries. He enjoys it. He _needs_ it. It is what gives his life a meaning. Now.” She pulls my hands up and holds them above my head. “Why are we talking about him again?" 

I smile at her, and draw up for a kiss. She kisses me lazily, not letting go of my arms. 

"Don't worry,” she whispers against my lips. “I’ve got you".

I remember Irissë was once unsure of how to touch me. The very first time she brought her fingers to my lips, she was trembling and closed her eyes, almost scared, and I was the one to close the distance.

Now she hovers over me, and holds me in place, without a doubt in her eyes. I am hers and she is mine, before all else. When we are together like this, I have no fears about the future. 

 

\-------

 

Gold and red are natural allies, my mother used to say, her hands braiding my hair with scarlet satin ribbons, helping me into velvet dresses of gold embroidered red. Together they shine like Laurelin at dawn, and you shine with them. My little golden girl, you'll shine prettiest than all, with tiny rubies in your hair. 

I never liked it as much as Ammë had, but I would wear red dresses at ceremonies, to see her smile. But she wouldn't smile if she saw me now, I don't think. Even if all this red becomes my skin rather elegantly.

All around me, the bodies look like dead fish. My father used to take me to the docks, every now and again, and I was utterly disgusted by all the dead fish piled in wooden crates, just brought in by the fishermen of the Teleri. I have loved Alqualondë and its pearly buildings, but I hated the beach and the fish. The stench was overwhelming to me. But now, it was even worse. I envied the fish. I envied the dead, for they didn't have to look upon all this destruction. They could go to sleep. I was sure I would never sleep again. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see them coming.

"Elenwë!”

They are calling. They will find me. I duck further into the alley, still holding on loosely to the sword I somehow found myself with. I cannot remember who gave it to me, or where I took it. I shouldn't have taken it. I shouldn't have _used it_. 

"Elenwë!”

I can't escape forever, I know. But my daughter needs me. I must try anyway. I just wish I could do this faster, without having to jump over so many dead fish. The fish look at me with dead eyes, and I'm so grateful I can't recognize then. Dead fish are different from living fish. 

"Elenwë! Thank the Valar you are okay!" 

Someone pulls me into an embrace, and I fall, loose-limbed in their arms. It's Irissë. She too is wearing red tonight. Now her usual color, I notice, but it doesn't look bad. She never looks bad.

"Why didn't you come back? We were so worried!" she says. 

She has a grasp of iron around my arms, and even if I wanted to move, I wouldn't be able to. I rest my head on her shoulder, and she goes on talking, hurriedly, feverish almost, her hands coming to my hair, brushing it softly as she always has. Tears start to drop from my eyes. Things will never be the same. 

"Itarillë told me where to find you,” she says at last, and I shiver. 

"My daughter, where is my daughter? She was right behind me!" I shake her away, looking around and raising my blade, ready to defend her once more, should the need arise. But nothing moves in the alley, not even Irissë, who looks stricken. She puts her arms up, defensively and motionless, with something about her eyes that I can't place. Was it guilt, or pity?

"She is safe,” my lover says, slowly, her eyes wet. “She is safe. She is with Turúkano. She found us a while ago. We were so scared, Elenwë, we thought the two of you…" her voice trails off a little, and she swallows hard before going on. “But she is safe now. And so are you. You're safe, my love, I’ve got you."

I lower my arms, ashamed, and let the sword drop with a clatter to the ground. I was keeping one eye at her, how had she gotten away? It was my duty to protect her. I had done it all for her. 

"I have killed, Irissë,” I say, my voice small and fragile, bracing for the disappointment to surge in her eyes. None comes. She only shows compassion and pain.

"I know, my love, I know. I have, too." 

I break down in her arms again, crying openly now, for all that is lost, and cannot be made anew.

 

She takes me back to the docks, where most of the Noldor are regrouping. My husband takes a good look at me, and then at his sister, who nods, and he goes back to his father. Itarillë is with her grandmother, and I cannot yet bear to face her. In my mind flashes the picture of a couple of children we passed on our way, looking for their father, and of their mother taking them away hurriedly when she saw us. Irissë still has a sword in her belt, but no one disturbs us. No one looks or comes near us, for that matter, all mothers and children looking for family members, who hide at the sight of us. 

"Kinslayers!" somebody cries at distance, but we don't look to see who it was. 

"Tyelko says it shouldn't take more than a few weeks to cross the ocean with the boats,” Irissë says, looking to the gray waves that come crashing at the beach. It was terrifying. She carries on. "Grandfather said something like that.”

"Finwë didn't cross the ocean with boats.” My voice is apathetic. "Tyelko knows nothing of sailing." 

I look at her and her eyes hold something akin to pleading, and I relent. "But he is probably right. We should go with the Arafinwions, though. They have sailed before.”

She pulls me close, relieved. "Yes, yes, anything you want. We'll go with Findaráto, or Aikanáro. Aikanáro is a great sailor, my father always tells us.”

"Irissë.” I try to push her away. “People will see us!" 

But she holds on, staring at me and laughing. Never was any laughter so humorless.

"They don't care. Look around! Nothing matters anymore - at least not these things. We are past that!" 

I look and indeed our people are all concerned with their own business. Some people surround Nolofinwë and Fëanáro as they discuss the matters of our flight - for flight it was - but most are looking at the sea. The sea almost seems to be looking back at us, threatening and challenging at the same time, daring us to try and brave its violent waves, and telling us that there would be no mercy.

I look back to her, and let my arms rest on her chest. From behind her back, my child is looking at me with scared eyes, still quiet in Lady Anairë’s grasp. Irissë sighs when I give up my resistance, and holds me tighter still. Her right hand strokes my hair, and I notice that there is blood on my golden curls. I close my eyes, not wanting to see what else is marred about me, about us all. She speaks softly on my ears, and I hold on to her voice like it’s the last thing holding me to this world.

"I know this is not what we were hoping for a few hours ago. I know this looks terrible, it _is_ terrible. But I'm here with you. When we reach the other side, everything will be different. I will look after you, you know? And we will forget this ever happened. This is not our fault, there was nothing we could have done differently. We will move on, you'll see. Not immediately, but eventually. And we'll be together. You and me will be together no matter what happens, so it can't be that bad, can it? I'll take care of you, and of Itarillë, and my brother will find a safe place where all of us can live, and we'll look at the stars and think of this no longer. _I promise!_ The stars still shine, don't they? Then it can't be so bad. We are going to be okay. I won't let anything bad happen to us. Never. Just look at the stars.”

And I look, though I don't think that they can help us any. But they still shine. Maybe not all is lost.


End file.
